The Doll: Origins
by Lady Moon-Chan
Summary: A sortof prequel to The Doll, as requested by Starlight's Delight. Note: The Doll is stand alone, and you don't have to read Origins unless you want background on the doll herself.


**The Doll: Origin**

**Lady Moon-Chan**

**Based on Starlight De light's review of my story the The Doll. She(or he) recommended writing a background for the doll showing her potential to murder/absorb people, so...here it is. Review please!**

**start!**

**December, 1900**

A man smiled as he crafted the finishing touches onto the bisque body he was crafting. She would be the most beautiful doll in the world. That would show them all...all those idiots who said he couldn't make anything worthwhile with his hands...he modeled her after a legend he'd heard about in rural Japan, of an abandoned village, prowled by the lost spirit of a fourteen-year-old girl in a white kimono, a girl named Sae.

He had even found an old photograph of Sae to model the doll after. As he sculpted, even he couldn't help but be awed. She was so beautiful, so lifelike. He gave her luminous black eyes and a chin-length black wig, then wrapped her slim body in a white brocade kimono with an obi of the same color. "At last, my lovely little doll. We'll show them all, won't we?"

Her luminous black eyes seemed to glow malevolently. _Fool, _the eyes seemed to say. _Just because you gave me a body does not mean I'll stoop to helping the likes of you._

He realized his mistake. He had built her on all his hatred and rage at having his skill as a doll maker scorned. He ran, as far and as fast as he could, setting fire to his house in an attempt to extinguish the spark of life he'd created in the doll. When he dared to go back after New Years to sift through the ashes, there sat the doll in the ashes of the workshop, her eyes reflecting the petulant pout she now wore. _You won't leave me again, right, Otou-san?_ It was only then that he saw the knife clenched in the tiny porcelain fist.

Panting, he slammed the lid of the small box shut and clasped it shut. He dipped a finger into the blood flowing from his stomach, and wrote a warning on the lid of the box. 'Please...to whoever finds this box...keep it sealed. There is a great evil within.' The doll maker died smiling, thinking that he had come out the winner after all.

**August, 1954**

As the crane bucket lifted, he caught sight of the scuffed wooden box. He dashed out his cigarette and stopped the crane near the ground. He grabbed the box. It was worn, scuffed mahogany, with a tarnished brass catch and something staining one side of it. He opened the clasp and smiled when he saw the doll within on the bed of aged satin. She was very Asian-looking, with short, silky dark hair, black eyes that seemed to glow, and was wearing a white robes made out of a rich, heavy material. He smiled. This would make the perfect birthday present for his daughter Allison.

"Hey, Allie!" He called as he stepped through the door. "I've got something for you!"

The six-year-old redhead came running. "Daddy!" she giggled as he scooped her up. "What is it?" he set her down and fished the box out of his backpack.

Allison opened it and let out a squeal of delight. "Oh, Daddy! She's beautiful! I love her!" she looked down at the doll. "I'll call you...Blackie."

Over the weeks since giving Allison the doll, he began to notice a change in his daughter. She became quieter, more withdrawn. She also seemed paler and paler by the day.

One night he heard her scream and rushed into the room. "Allie, baby, what's wrong?"

Allison clung to him. "Daddy, Blackie scares me. She says nasty things about you and tries to make me do things I don't want to do. Just now, she came and tried to get me to hurt you, but I said I wouldn't so she hurt me." And Allison raised one hand up, showing where her wrist was red and raw, as if someone had gripped it very, very hard.

"Okay, I'll put Blackie in the front room, hon." he took the doll and stood it on the shelf over their television, tucked Allison back in, and went back to bed.

A few hours later, he was woken up again by Allison. She was shaking him and crying. "Blackie came back. She hit me and told me not to call her Blackie. She told me to call her Sae."

"Okay, baby. I'll put her in the attic, and you'll never have to see her again." He put the doll up in the attic and went to work, after giving the baby-sitter strict instructions about not disturbing the doll in the attic.

When he got home, the baby-sitter looked tense and worried. "Sir, it's Allison. She's hiding upstairs and won't come down, no matter how much I call. I've looked for her, but I can't find her. I'd have called you at work, but it only just happened."

A bolt of fear went through him and he charged for the attic. "Allie! Allie-baby!" he bellowed.

"Daddy." A faint voice vaguely similar to Allison's answered. He looked up to the top of the attic steps, and there she stood. She was wearing her white nightgown, and her red hair was loose enough that she could -and had- brushed her bangs over her eyes. She looked paler than ever.

"Allie, what are you doing?"

"I wanted my doll back, Daddy."

"Blackie?"

"Her name is Sae, Daddy." Allie walked slowly down the stairs, dangling the doll by one hand. Her little hand unconsciously loosened and the doll dropped, bouncing down the stairs, but miraculously, not breaking.

"Allie, Allie what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Daddy." she smiled serenely. Then she yanked her head up, and her eyes were filled with panic and fear. "Daddy, help me! It's Bla-Sae! She got me! She-" her head lowered, the bangs drifting back over her eyes.

He backed away in horror. That damned doll had somehow...somehow _possessed _Allison , and now...

'Allison' pouted. "What's the matter, Daddy?" the voice became demonic. "Don't you love me anymore?" then she -it- lunged, clamping her hands around his windpipe with inhuman strength.

When the police were called the next day, they entered the house to a bloody scene. The baby-sitter, who lay dead and covered with blood behind the sofa. She had been stabbed in the stomach and left to bleed to death. She had written the words 'the broken butterfly' on the wall in her own blood. Then next the father, strangled to death in an upstairs hallway. Up in the attic, little Allison hung, with the doll placed on a shelf before her, as if an idol.

All the belongings were sold, and the doll wound up in the collection of a perfectly healthy woman, who suffered a heart attack and died less than two months after acquiring the doll.

**October, 1992**

After years of being shuffled around from store to store to store and owner to unfortunate owner, the doll wound up in the back room of a nameless antique store. The shop's owner opened the case she was in and smiled. Such a beautiful doll would make a great center for a window display...

**AN: Well, there you go. That's how the doll wound up in the antique store, and that shows her violent and evil sides quite well. Well, review. Bye now!**


End file.
